Avira ran a finger over the delicacies of the ornate circlet. Diamonds, Rubies, Sapphires, Emeralds, and a dozen more glittering gems winked back at her in the moonlight. A pleasant tingle shot up her arm every time she touched one of the jewels.

Returning her hand to her side she perched herself on the window sill, her reflection looking down at the quiet, sleeping city. Tall and slender, Avira's shimmering black hair fell in a strait curtain to the bottom of her shoulder blades, her warm golden eyes reflecting like those of a cat. She ran a finger down the pale, reflected side of her face, and wondered about the world beyond the walls of her home.

Her father was a very protective man, and she had only been into the city a few times, and always with a host of guards at her disposal. Tonight would be a momentous night, but she was having a hard time discerning how she truly felt about it. She blew a breath of hot air, fogging up a small space on the pane, and traced a heart onto it.

Am I doing the right thing? She wondered, not for the first time.

If we do not leave, Vira, you know worse things are bound to happen. The patience of the king wears short. Syndûr tried to urge her forward, but fear of the unknown gripped at her heart.

The king's impatience does not concern me, Syndûr. I worry about our welcome in a place where anyone from the great city is automatically suspect.

You do not go alone, small one, but with a mighty warrior at your side and in your heart. Make haste, little friend, the sooner we set on our way, the better.

Avira took a deep breath to settle the shaking that had begun in her limbs. Closing her eyes she counted to ten, opened them with renewed purpose, and crossed to the plush four-poster that adorned the center of the room. She had prepared her pack that morning with a few dresses and provisions from the kitchen. She swung the pack to her back and retrieved her bow and quiver from beside the door. With her free hand she removed a torch from its post beside the door.

"Brisingr."

Halls that at the least were confusing, and lost many more, were comfortable and familier to Avira. She had run these halls as a child and used them to avoid her nursemaids and nannies. Every step took her far from her home, from the things that she knew.

Do not think like this, little friend. Keep walking. Join me, my Vira, come and go with me to our freedom.

Shut up, Syndûr! This is easy for you; you haven't been around very long. Now leave me to my thoughts.

The pitter patter of her slippers seemed to echo off the walls of the great hall as Avira made her way to the front entry.

"My Lady." The guards bowed their heads in customary respect. "What brings you out at such an hour."

Avira drew herself up to her full height and held her head high. "Sleep escapes me, Urin. I'm leaving the things I will need for tomorrow's ride in the stables, then going for a walk." She had barely stepped down the first few steps to the lower grounds when she turned and looked the guard in the eye. "And Urin? You might be well advised to not question the daughter of the king in the future."

Urin's face paled considerably, and Avira turned and walked as calmly as she could to the stables.

I'm out. She walked straight through the stables to the back and trotted out and around the tack, darting between side buildings until she reached the side entrance to the dragon hold. She thrust the torch out in front as she stumbled up the stairs to the main faraway of the hold.

A great platform stood at the bottom, and up the walls were rooms for the dragons. First for guest riders of the kingdom, then to the forsworn, and now to three dragons currently in the king's residence. The red head of a dragon emerged from a lower hold, and above it, the head of a smaller, emerald dragon. The emerald dragon dropped from his perch in the hold and joined Avira on the lower platform.

Shruikan sleeps, but Thorn is awake. Syndûr looked up into the eyes of the red dragon. Avira worked to attach her pack to Syndûr's saddle. Above them, Thorn growled. Tighten faster, little friend, before he awakes Shruikan or brings Murtagh down upon our heads!

"I do not fear that traitor!" she hissed, tightening the last strap and lifting herself, with Syndûr's aid, into the saddle.

"Where are you going, Princess?" Murtagh's boots echoed off the walls of the dragon hold.

Avira looked down at him from Syndûr's shoulders. "Think you to stop me, Murtagh?" she smiled. It was almost cute, this whole situation. He stared at her from the floor of the dragon hold, his grey eyes searing into hers. "Eitha, Murtagh. Gánga aptr!"

"Eka wilae neo!" a disturbance above them alerted Syndûr and Avira to the movement of Thorn, who jumped down, barely missing Syndûr on the foot of the hold. Thorn roared, a small burst of red hot flame escaping from between his lips. Avira felt Syndûr's heart skip a beat, and tried to send him a bolt of courage.

He won't hurt us, or my father will have his head on a platter before the sun rises.

No, he won't hurt you.

It hadn't even occurred to Avira that she and Syndûr would be considered separately. From the moment he hatched it seemed he had been a part of her, and she barely remembered a time when things were different; even if it had only been seven months prior. She shut her mind off from Syndûr's fear and opened it to Murtagh and Thorn. The dragon was as mysterious to her as he always was, but in Murtagh there was despair, bitterness, fear, and hate in spades.

She saw the words before he spoke them, and had wards lifted before he could even open his mouth. As syllables fell from his lips they rolled across the space between them, colliding with her wards and rolling up and over their smooth surface with a roll of green magic. Murtagh was made powerful by the Eldunarì her father had given him, but so few were no match for her magic.

Thorn and Murtagh charged at them, Murtagh drawing Zar'roc, as Avira and Syndûr prepared to leave. Syndûr made for the gate as Avira turned in the saddle. Pointing her right hand, the one branded by the Gedwëy Ignasia, she cast a spell at them both. "Aptr!" Thorn slid back only a few inches, but Murtagh was thrown back into the wall of the hold, dropping to the floor, unconscious. Shruikan's resounding roar filled their ears as Syndûr took to the skies of Urû'baen.

So much for a clean escape. Avira blinked and leaned forward to rest on Syndûr's neck. The air was cold, and every breath she took came out in a puff of steam. She had forgotten her cloak in her hurry to leave, and the frigid air of a darkened world sent shivers down her spine. She tucked her face into the crook of her elbow, wondering if the trembling of her limbs was only due to the cold.

All ancient language is roughly translated by using .com and some using an old norse translator.

Brisingr – Fire

Eitha, Murtagh. Gánga aptr – Leave, Murtagh. Go back

Eka wilae neo – I will not

Aptr – Back

Gedwëy Ignasia – Shining Palm

Pronunciation

Avira – Uh-Veer-Uh

Syndûr – Sin-Dir (as in 'Dirt") (Cinder)

Inheritance Cycle, all related Characters (Eragon, Shruikan, Galbatoric, Murtagh, etc etc etc) belong to Christopher Paolini!

Avira and Syndûr © me